Still, it will be fun living with people again.
Friends also landed me a temporary job as a barista and an interview for a receptionist position tomorrow.
Frankie Peck is being an absolute gem handling putting my stuff into storage for me until I can sell or donate it.
Already it feels like my life with Francis is a distant memory.
Janet Jackson’s “That’s the Way Love Goes” is playing in the background as we all sit on the couch and I tell them (almost) everything that’s gone down this weekend.
“Then you’ll just have to be disappointed, because deets, you most certainly won’t be getting,” I sass. “Suffice it to say, it was a very nice Valentine’s Day.”
And how.
I spent the night at Giuseppe’s, and the second time around was even better. Sending him off to work this morning like some housewife from the fifties was the cherry on top of the perfect ice cream sundae that was this weekend, even if there were a few bumps here and there.
As Miss Jackson compares her love to that of a moth being drawn to a flame, I reminisce for perhaps the fiftieth time today.
“Honey’s right, Jerome,” Annabelle says, leaning around me to give him a critical frown. “What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.”
“Yea but, who says it was only in the bedroom?” I add with a cryptic smile, causing both of them to laugh and pester me for details.
“All the more reason to stay your ass in that apartment right across the hall from him, at least until the lease runs out, Honey!”
I give Jerome a scolding look.
“Right, stay in the apartment paid for by the man I was with before Giuseppe, a man who doesn’t even have the balls to call and tell me it’s officially over. That’s the perfect way to start a relationship.”
“Exactly,” Annabelle says, agreeing with me. “You did the right thing moving out.”
Jerome rolls his eyes. “I suppose.”
“If you don’t want me sleeping on your couch, just say so.”
He gives me one quick pat on the shoulder and purses his lips. “Girl, you know your ass is welcome here anytime. Even better if you bring some of those designer dresses you’re so intent on getting rid of.”
I give him a skeptical once over.
“Don’t be giving me no side-eye.” He points to himself. “This lady right here owns a sewing machine and I can take a Vera and Wang the hell outta that bitch with it.”
“Save some for me,” Annabelle adds. “I know pink is your color but that one Chanel skirt is just so…”
I grin and throw both hands up in the air, waving them in every direction. “They are all yours. I’ll let you and the rest of my friends fight over them all.”
“At least something good should come out of that hot mess. That asshole still hasn’t even texted?”
“Not a peep,” I grit out.
“That bastard,” Annabelle mutters, her cheeks going pink. She’s the sweetest out of all The Girls so it’s amusing to see her so inflamed.
“You know my ass would have had him dumped about a hundred different ways by now, each more painful than the last.”
“I think he pretty much ended it with that damn ring,” I say, feeling even more resentment set in.
“But you didn’t even get the fun of telling him off, Honey. At least get some closure. Dang it girl!”
“I agree with Jerome. I know it sucks, him making you go to him, but I’m a firm believer in energy and it’s just bad energy to leave it open-ended this way, even if it is technically over.”
They’re both right, of course. Hell, Francis probably thinks I’m still open to the idea of this whole public-private thing he suggested, despite my telling him exactly where he could stick that idea last week at lunch.
Especially since he has yet to call me, publicly or privately!
I sigh and sit back against the sofa. “You know what? Y’all are right. In fact, I’m going to—”
My phone vibrates and I reach down in my bag to pick it up. I don’t recognize the number, so I just set it down on the coffee table instead of answering. Probably a sales call or something.
“Anyway, like I was saying. I want this thing with Giuseppe to get started on the right foot.” Or at least as right as it can be until he finds out what I do for a living. “So I’ll—”
An alert sounds, letting me know that the caller has left a message.
That piques my interest to at least take a listen.
“Hello, Honey, Miss Dewberry?”
It’s a woman’s voice, completely unfamiliar to me.
But my blood goes cold despite this.
Because I know exactly who it is.
“This is Maude Aston. I’m aware Francis has told you about me. I think perhaps we should meet. I imagine you have things to discuss, as do I. Please call at your earliest convenience. Perhaps we can do lunch today at my residence?”
“What is it, Honey?” Annabelle asks, seeing the look on my face.
“It’s Maude Aston—Muffy.”
The look on their faces would be comical if the situation wasn’t bizarre enough to stun me into numbness.
I play the message out loud for them.
“I don’t know, Honey,” Jerome warns. “You don’t mess around with the other woman. That shit can get messy.”
“Technically, I think I might be considered the other woman at this point.”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of taking her up on it?” Annabelle asks.
“Y’all are the ones who said I should get this out of the way.”
“By kicking him in the balls or something, not this hot mess!” Jerome says.
“I’m going,” I say, feeling confident about it. “I’m too curious not to.”
Before they can protest again, I hit the Callback button.
“Miss Dewberry, I see you got my message,” Maude answers, sounding surprisingly pleasant. “Are you amenable to meeting today? As I understand, it’s your, ah, day
